


A path to purpose

by Alphawave



Series: Murder bots [1]
Category: Apex Legends (Video Games)
Genre: A triple threat indeed, Dark Comedy, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, He can be an asshole AND refuse to admit his feelings AND be a tsundere, I'm gonna make this into a series of fics I hope, M/M, Other, Revenant is still an edge lord that watches Naruto, Slow Burn, The 'lovers' bit will come in the upcoming fics in this series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-10
Updated: 2020-02-10
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:36:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22651126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alphawave/pseuds/Alphawave
Summary: Revenant thought he'd abandoned his humanity. He thought he hated everybody. But perhaps with the help of a robot, he might just remember what it's like.And if he happens to bond with a sentient high-five machine, that's his problem, isn't it?
Relationships: Pathfinder & Revenant (Apex Legends), Pathfinder/Revenant (Apex Legends)
Series: Murder bots [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1629394
Comments: 19
Kudos: 173





	A path to purpose

**Author's Note:**

> _World first Revfinder fic, baby! Whoo! I knew I was going to ship them, but DAMN after hearing Revenant's voicelines, their connections, the way they're the complete opposite in personality, HOO BOY this is free real estate._  
>  Remember kids: I don't find the rare ships. The rare ships find me. 

On Revenant’s list, he had every and all high-level Hammond Robotics employees at the top of the people he must kill. For a long time, the rest of the list had remained blank, ready for him to fill in the spaces. He hated the skinbags, the so-called humans, for their ignorance. He hated how they could live their lives to their fullest and die and never have to suffer the curse of immortality. But he didn’t hate them enough to put them on the list. No, only special people who have done something to earn his personal brand of wrath deserved to be on that list. And now, after centuries of corrupted memories and composited images and fake lives, he had someone to put in at number two.

That number two was an insufferable MRVN who went by the alias of Pathfinder.

“Hey, friend! Great to meet you. My name is MRVN, but you can call me Pathfinder. All my very best friends call me Pathfinder, which is everyone.” A disgusting little smiley face flashing on their chest monitor.

Revenant huffed. He hated this. He knew this was going to happen. The robot and the simulacrum, the vicious murderer of a beloved celebrity and the ball of sunshine, the pessimist and the optimist. The people of the Outlands really did love their match-ups, didn’t they? Wouldn’t it be a kick in the pants if they’d have their rooms right next to each other, in an isolated corner of the dropship, away from the skinbags? Think of the drama.

Sons of bitches, all of them. He’ll put the organisers of the Apex games at number three on his list.

“Could you not hear me?” Pathfinder asked. “My voice module is incapable of imitating shouting, but I can raise the decibel level of my voice to make it sound like I’m shouting. Would you like me to do that, friend?”

“I’m not your friend,” Revenant growled. “And I can hear you just fine.”

“But you are talking to me. And friends always talk to each other, which means you are my new best friend.”

“Just ignore him, buddy,” Mirage said. He had his own group of people around him, but felt, for some ungodly reason, to approach Revenant.

When the games started, Mirage’ll be his first victim, Revenant thought. 

“Guy will call anyone and everyone his friend,” Mirage continued. “He’s a robot. He can handle it.”

Revenant did his best to convey how much he was glaring at the man. “I _am_ a robot.”

“I mean, yeah sure. On the outside. Not on the inside. At least…that’s how simula-simu-…guys like you work, right? But Path’s all robot. He doesn’t feel like the rest of us real humans. Or well…quasi-humans." Mirage was now rubbing the back of his head. "C-Can I say quasi-humans? That sounds racist.”

Revenant glared evilly, and Mirage shrank back into the background.

Scratch that. Mirage was going to be third on that list. Right underneath Pathfinder and just above the organizers.

He was prepared to hate Pathfinder even before he met the robot. MRVNs of his type were developed by a subsidiary of Hammond Robotics, which meant that Pathfinder will have to be killed anyway. He never liked robots when he was human; always thought that a human touch was what made him better than the armies of robot assassins that countless organizations tried to concoct. Pathfinder was no exception, even though he knew that the robot’s drive to find his creator was what propelled it to join the games. That simple goal inspired this simple service bot to fight, to kill, to befriend, to love.

How ironic, Revenant thought. A robot with no mind of its own had more free will than him.

Pathfinder was staring at him—or at least doing his best impression of staring. Despite his hard metallic body, there was warmth in that black lens of his. An almost…human warmth. Almost.

“You don’t know what I am,” Revenant commented.

“I do,” Pathfinder said, his tone getting sharper. “You killed my last best friend on TV in cold blood.”

“So you realise what you’ll get yourself into if you get in my way,” Revenant growled.

“Yep,” Pathfinder replied. “I’ll learn even more about killing from you, and impress my creator. Exciting!”

“What? No! I’m telling you to leave me alone," Revenant spluttered.

“This is really great. I think you are going to be the bestest best friend I’ve ever had, I just know it. That is a lie to make you know just how much I love you.”

For once Revenant was glad he was a Simulacrum, if only so this stupid robot couldn’t see the blush that'd otherwise stain his cheeks. “Shut up. Get out of my sight.”

To Revenant’s relief, Pathfinder gave a friendly wave in goodbye and retreated to his bedroom without another word. He didn't close the door. A nauseating heart emoji popped up on his chest and remained there for some time .

Scratch that. Hammond Robotics can wait. Until that opportunity presents itself, Pathfinder was top of his list of people to kill. Something about that damned robot really got under his skin.

* * *

Of course, the universe was never kind to Revenant. He always lost in games of chance and fate. If his odds were slightly better, he might’ve taken a different road and became a high stakes gambler instead of an assassin. They weren't all that different, if he thought about it. The difference was that assassins exploit other people’s luck, find the openings and seize the opportunity to strike . Assassins didn’t need luck, they made their own. But life was a casino, and the odds were stacked up against you. You cheat to win, and sooner or later you get caught by security.

And by security, he meant the high tech lock that he had placed on his room's door to make sure no one ever disturbed him. The very lock that Pathfinder had just opened.

“Hi, best friend. Beautiful day outside.”

Revenant grabbed the nearest thing from him—in this case a Nessie doll—and threw it at Pathfinder. It hit his head before falling down with a thud. Revenant grunted. Should've grabbed the knife.

“Did I come at a bad time?” A question mark appeared on Pathfinder's chest.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Revenant hissed. “How did you get past the lock?”

“Oh, that was easy. I asked my friend Crypto to help me open it. He agreed to give me some advice if I promised not to pester him for the rest of the week. When it didn't work, I smashed it with my fists, which are made of metal.”

Revenant did not have time to unravel all of that. He checked his clock. 3am. “You bothered me now?! Talk to me when the rest of the skinbags are awake.”

“But it is day time, and we do not need sleep like humans do.”

He wanted to say otherwise but Pathfinder has a point. He didn’t need to sleep. He just did it anyway because…well, he wasn’t actually sure why. Maybe he was hoping that he might be able to dream and remember his previous life, or that some other assassin will kill him when he was defenseless and finally give him the death he so desperately craved. But that’s wishful thinking on his part.

Pathfinder was still staring at Revenant, waiting for an answer. Revenant huffed. He can’t believe he was doing this. “Fine. Stay here. Just don’t touch anything, or I will make sure your warranty is voided for good.”

"Great!" Pathfinder exclaimed far too loudly as he walked exactly two steps into the centre of the room and stood still.

At least the damned thing knew how to follow instructions.

"You have a nice room. I like it," Pathfinder commented.

Revenant grumbled under his breath. The one thing he hated more than Hammond Robotics. Compliments. "Don't think you'll get brownie points with me."

Pathfinder's single lens scanned the room, before he crouched down to pick up the fallen Nessie doll. For a MRVN with little to no touch receptors, he handled the fragile thing so gently. It could feel, Revenant realised.

"You have one too," he remarked.

It took all of Revenant's willpower not to snatch the doll and hide it away. "Give it back, it's mine. And what do you mean, 'too'?"

"My friend Wattson used to collect Nessies when she was younger. Most of us found one. They are very cute."

"They are…" Revenant mumbled. He jerked his head up at Pathfinder. "I know what you're doing. Stop it."

"Stop what?"

"This. Whatever you're doing." His crimson eyes peered deeply into Pathfinder. "You must have a motive for being here."

"I want to find my creator," Pathfinder said.

"Don’t give me the bull you fed the press. We both know that's not true."

Pathfinder's monitor went blank as the robot tilted its head. It had no face, no real emotions besides the one it could display on its chest, but Revenant felt like he hit a nerve. A sore one.

"It's not true?" Pathfinder asked quietly.

"Your programming says you want to find your creator. Just ones and zeroes giving you some semblance of a directive to follow. You don't actually think. You don't actually dream."

"I have dreams," Pathfinder said. His tone didn't sound as peppy, almost like he was struggling to display the proper emotion in his voice. "My diagnostics cannot determine why, but I dream like humans do. I dream of being famous. Of making my creator proud, wherever they are. Becoming the champion of the Apex Games sounds very exciting, and will get me noticed by my creator and many people and robots all over the Outlands."

If Revenant could roll his eyes, he would. "Face it, the chances your creator is even alive are slim to none." Revenant's eyes dimmed. "If I could meet my creators I'd…I'd…"

"Give them a high five?" Pathfinder suggested.

Revenant scoffed. "A high five to the face. With a knife. And then another high five with my knife to their stomach, spleen, neck, and spine." He knew exactly how the blood would squirt and spill. With every life he took, he felt a little more alive, just for a brief moment.

"That is a lot of high fives," Pathfinder murmured uneasily.

"Yeah, well, I can't anyway. They've been dead for god knows how long. I've been living for too long myself. Don't even remember my own name, just what I do, what I did. What I looked like."

It took Revenant a few seconds of introspection before he realised he made one of the biggest mistakes. It was right there in the assassin's handbook: never reveal anything about yourself. Revenant stood up from his bed, instinctively prepared to fight or kill. Non-existent adrenaline filled his body, a by-product of the simulation that once fabricated his human appearance, as he observed every weapon at his disposal. There was the chair, the knife under his pillow, his own augmented body, that weak spot at the MRVN's neck. Just had to wait for an opportunity. Wait for luck to go on his side.

But Pathfinder did not move. There was a question mark on his monitor, the light within that dark lens glowing brighter. To the untrained eye he was just standing, but Revenant noticed how Pathfinder’s centre of gravity lowered into an defensive stance. He knew what Revenant was going to do, and he chose not to move. It was almost like the MRVN was daring Revenant to act, as if to say _Go ahead and try._

Revenant had fought a lot of robots in his life. None of them acted like this. They calculated the safest, most effective move in the short term. They strike first, asked questions last--if they were capable of asking questions. They didn't see the big picture. They didn't stand there, waiting for an attack they knew was coming. No fully automated machine could ever act like a human.

This wasn't any ordinary MRVN. This MRVN thought and dreamt like a human. This MRVN was alive.

 _Huh,_ Revenant thought. _Perhaps Pathfinder wasn't just a pretty face for the cameras after all._

Ugh, he couldn't believe he just called Pathfinder a 'pretty face'.

Revenant's gaze swept down to the Nessie doll, and with a grunt he swiped it out of Pathfinder's hands and placed it back on its rightful spot above his bed. The doll was one of two personal effects he brought with him when he joined the Apex Games. The other one sat at an unused sink, just underneath an unused mirror, old but sharp. Just like him.

"You did not need to take it from me. I would have gave it back to you.”

"Sure you would've," Revenant grumbled.

"I would, because I love you, best friend."

Revenant stiffened. He hadn't heard the L word in…actually, when had _anyone_ used the L word with him? It was always used to describe someone else, and it was never in a good way. Love was just another thing to exploit. Another bit of luck to steal.

So why could he feel his artificial lungs quicken? Why did his systems glitch for just a second, making everything spark in front of his vision?

"Best friend?"

Revenant stared at Pathfinder for the longest time, wondering if perhaps the robot was fucking with him. But all that he was met with was utter sincerity and honesty. 

The honest people were the dangerous ones. The ones that had nothing to hide usually had nothing to lose. And Pathfinder was too young and too naïve to have any morals to hold him back. Pathfinder was dangerous. Friendly, but dangerous. A useful ally, or the bane of his existence. 

Revenant suddenly approached Pathfinder, acutely aware of how much taller he was than the taller-than-average MRVN as he sharply pushed Pathfinder out of his room and slammed the door shut. Pathfinder stood outside his door for several seconds before walking away. Revenant collapsed on the bed, groaning in frustration as he tried, once again, to close his eyes and sleep. Despite his best efforts, his mind was too restless. All he could think about was that strange look Pathfinder gave him. It was almost like staring at a human being trapped in a robotic body. A twisted reflection of himself. 

He wondered what would have happened if he met a human version of Pathfinder, back when he was human himself. Chances were he'd kill the guy before anything could happen. If only he had the guts to kill him now and end the torture that was Pathfinder's horrific attempts at friendship.

He was getting soft, he told himself over and over again. Secretly, he knew there was a different reason as to why he hadn't killed Pathfinder already. One that he refused to acknowledge.

* * *

It was ironic. Both their squadmates had been wiped out in the gunfight, leaving only him versus Pathfinder. A 1v1 for the championship of this round. It had been through the use of surprise, fear, ruthless efficiency, an almost fanatical use of the Devotion, and his nice red turban that Revenant managed to get to this position. Soon as he learned Pathfinder was on a different team, he tried his best to track him down and eliminate him early, but to little avail. And now here they were, identical weapons drawn, staring each other down through the scope of their gun, the ring closing in on their position.

The universe really did hate him, didn't it.

Time seemed to slow down as they stared at one another, no doubt both of them thinking the same thing. Except--and Revenant hated that he had to keep reminding himself this--Pathfinder couldn't think. It was a robot. A MRVN. Inanimate. A machine that could only follow its programming.

At least, that was what Revenant thought. Until he felt a grapple on his abdomen. 

He was pulled forward toward Pathfinder, too quick for him to ready his weapon. The glint of the barrel stared him in the face, but he twisted his body, and the shotgun shell barely missed him. If he was human, he'd be deaf in one ear. But he wasn't. With a snarl, he grabbed his own shotgun, aiming it blindly, but the shell missed as Pathfinder slid underneath Revenant's legs and grappled a fair distance away, already switching his weapons.

Revenant was begrudgingly impressed. He almost underestimated Pathfinder.

_Almost._

He ran toward Pathfinder, shouting at the top of his lungs. Pathfinder tried to shoot him down, but Revenant predicted his movement, sidestepping out of the way before unleashing his own volley of energy bullets. A few shots dinked at Pathfinder's body armour. Half armour and full health at best, Revenant assumed, though it could be lower. It all depended on whether Pathfinder healed up earlier or not. Revenant was not going to take his chances with an aggressive play and find out. Not yet. 

Pathfinder tried the same trick again, his grapple flying through the air, but this time Revenant somersaulted backwards, the momentum pulling Pathfinder to the ground. There was the sick crunch of metal against metal as he yanked the grapple claw off his chest and stomped hard on Pathfinder's monitor, making it beep and whine. He took out his shotgun and pulled the trigger.

The shield was broken. Pathfinder barely had any health left. His body was crumpled and broken, a shadow of its former painted glory. Revenant couldn't help but laugh. "See you in the scrap yard."

"I love you, Revenant."

It took him by surprise. Just long enough for Pathfinder to get his shotgun out and shoot Revenant right between his eyes. The knock-back pushed him away slightly. His vitals flickered in front of his eyes. _Warning: <10% integrity. _

A laugh emoji flickered across Pathfinder's chest monitor.

The robot played him.

Pathfinder of all people took him off guard.

Revenant snarled viciously as he discarded the gun, looping behind Pathfinder as his hand shifted into a blade, slicing it through the sensitive neck area. Pathfinder groaned as the light in his lens flickered off, falling backwards into Revenant's arms. Within seconds, Pathfinder was inactive and dead.

Revenant huffed as he pushed himself off Pathfinder's body, tossing it haphazardly down onto the ground with a clank. He should be feel happy, alive, something. He felt it just moments before when he gunned down Pathfinder's teammates. And this battle was a close one, where the odds could have fell into anyone's grasp, which usually made the kill afterward all the more sweeter. 

So why did this victory feel so hollow? Why didn't killing Pathfinder make him happier? 

" _WE HAVE OUR APEX CHAMPION.”_ The announcer said across the intercoms.

Funny. He didn't feel like a champion. Not this time.

Of course, when he got back to the ship, a lot of people congratulated him. Or at least, people tried to, before he told them all to shove off in less-than-kid-friendly language. That made them give him a wide berth, hushed whispers of his abilities spreading like wildfire. He wouldn't stop the rumours. Let them know he was not a person to be messed with. Let them think what they wanted to think.

Pathfinder didn't get the memo apparently, approaching Revenant as soon as he respawned, not a dent or scratch to be seen. He was waving excitedly, even as his friends and acquaintances watched nervously from afar.

"Great moves, friend. Sucks that I lost." He stuck his hand out in a high five.

Revenant stared at that hand for several seconds. It was boxy, and crude, and ugly. It fitted Pathfinder perfectly. "That was a dirty move back in the ring. I could kill you now for it,” Revenant snarled. “I've killed for far less."

"But you're not. And yet you did." Pathfinder tilted his head as he lowered his hand. "Past and present tense are funny, aren't they? Funny is a synonym for weird in this context."

"You did it on purpose," Revenant uttered.

"I did, actually. I am surprised and happy that it worked." His voice almost sounded cocky. "Did you like my moves?"

Revenant did something in between a puff and a laugh. Why was he relieved that Pathfinder was alive? Why was this strange warmth bubbling up his chest, even when there was nothing warm to bubble in his chest in the first place?

What was it about Pathfinder?

He shook his head as he approached Pathfinder and gave him a hearty slap to their arm joint. "You got lucky, punk,” he uttered before heading back to his room and avoid all the interviewers.

He barely got to the door when he heard a faint commotion as everybody clambered up to Pathfinder. Pathfinder was no doubt smiling to his friends when he said, “I think he likes me a lot. We are going to be super best friends, I just know it.” Revenant just shook his head and slammed the door shut, blocking out the rest of the world.

Neither of them realised how accurate Pathfinder’s words would be.

* * *

It was 2am and Revenant couldn’t sleep. Or ‘stasis’ or ‘sleep mode’ or whatever the hell it actually was. Point was, he wanted time to just pass him by and it wouldn’t. It continued on at a tepid pace, making sure that Revenant saw each and every one of his few non-corrupted memories in vivid detail. He may not need to sleep, but he could still dream and have nightmares. It was ironic. The synthetic nightmare himself had nightmares.

Karma was a bitch.

His nightmares were never scary enough to frighten him, just made him feel uncomfortable, flooding his mind with sounds and images . He’d killed anyone, from the slimiest mafia boss to the kindest social reformers and the smallest of children, and many of them returned from the grave to haunt his mind. Most times he tried to distract himself with the few things that gave him pleasure in life. Money. Infamy. A name checked off his hit list.

But not tonight. This time, as he stared at the ceiling, his mind went to a service robot with a coat of blue paint and a well-polished grapple and smooth, clean metal.

He bolted up, grunting angrily to himself. His hand went up to his head, wanting to tug at short blonde locks, only to feel the rough texture of a Hammond Robotics-issued turban.

“Again, always that stupid, insufferable robot,” he hissed to himself. What was it about Pathfinder, corrupting his dreams, driving him mad with his presence? It must be because he hated Pathfinder. That had to be it. That had to be.

He’d say more but then he realized that light was flooding in underneath the door. The scent of meat drifted in the air. The sounds of a pot boiling liquid.Someone was awake and…cooking? At this ungodly hour?

Curiosity killed the cat, but then cats weren't expected to do surveillance on their potential targets to kill. Or…actually they did, didn't they? Whatever. Point was, in his line of business it was better to investigate these sorts of things. At the very least, it was good practice for sneaking up on some unsuspecting victims.

So he crept out of his room, closing and locking it without a sound. He kept his profile low, his movements almost spider-like as he crept from the floor to the source. The light was coming from the common kitchenette. Amidst the various cooking noises, Revenant heard some tunelessly humming.

They wouldn't hear him. This was almost too easy.

He stuck to the shadows where he belonged, the harsh light making the shadows darker. All of the other legends were sleeping apart from Crypto and Octane, who were both occupied on their computers for various different reasons, not like they'd notice him. He got closer, edging his face past the corner.

Of all the things he expected to see, Pathfinder wearing a fluffy apron was certainly not one of them. Pathfinder's humming stopped. His head turned toward Revenant's direction. "Best friend, you are awake. Just in time!"

Revenant silently cursed himself for getting caught. Once again Pathfinder was taking him off-guard. This wasn't like him. This really wasn't.

Slowly, he walked into view, his body poised for attack.

"You are just in time. I have made a new batch of my famous Leviathan stew! It's made with real Leviathan meat, not fake meat."

Revenant sniffed the concoction. Sure enough, it was Leviathan stew. Smelt like it, at lest. Looked like it. It'd probably taste like it too. "You do realise I don't have a mouth to eat it with," Revenant said.

"That's alright. Then everybody else can have it when they wake up. Sharing food is what makes it fun. Or at least, I think it is. As you can tell, I also do not have a mouth to process food and 'flavour'. "

Revenant scoffed. "Next, you're going to be telling me the secret to making delicious food is _love_." He spat the L word out like it was poison. He's had to spit out a few poisons in his natural lifetime. He often wondered if that was how he bit the dust the first time, back when he was human.

"The secret to making delicious food is to cook it exactly like the recipe. And also tasting it." A frowny face briefly appeared on his monitor. "Unfortunately, I can't taste food."

Revenant looked at the gigantic pot filled with Leviathan stew. He remembered his mentors served it to him once. It was good for long stakeouts. Easy to cook, easy to heat up, and filled your stomach up nice. It was comfort food for a long time, something he whipped up many a lonely night when he wanted to feel warm and safe for once. Even if he had the capability to eat, Leviathan meat was much harder to get a hold of now than it was in his time. Many things he once enjoyed were now gone, or had been reduced to rare luxuries. The few that remained, they were unattainable to him because of his simulacrum body. 

He tilted his head toward the stew. If he had lips, they'd be thinned to a line. He harshly shoved Pathfinder aside with his shoulder and grabbed some spices from the spice rack. A dash of paprika, a pinch more brown sugar. The colour shifted as he stirred it with a wooden spoon, turning into a richer reddish-brown. Not unlike the colour of his endoskeleton when it was caked in dried blood.

"Revenant?" Pathfinder asked. It was the first time ever that he ever said his name. Or rather, his moniker. He'd never give people his human name. Not even after a thousand deaths.

"Where'd you learn this?" Revenant asked.

"Some soldiers in Solace were ever so kind to teach me," Pathfinder replied. "A chef taught me how to make it better. And now, you're making it even better-er." A laughing emote flickered on his screen. "That was a joke. _Better-er_ is not a real English word."

Revenant hummed. "That chef was shit. You need more paprika. Gives it a bit of an extra kick." He stuck his thumb back toward the sleeping quarters. "We all know that lot need a kick up their backside, especially that insufferable Mirage."

"Mirage is my best friend," Pathfinder said. Quickly, he added, "but you are my newest best friend."

"Of course," Revenant sighed. He should've known.

Pathfinder turned his head back to the stew. His monitor was blank. His voice sounded almost introspective. Pensive. "My friends say you're a bad man. That you killed hundreds and hundreds of people before coming to the Apex Games."

If Revenant had eyebrows, they'd be raised up slightly. "Your friends are correct, for once. What's your point?"

"You are a bad person," Pathfinder said. It was a statement. A fact.

"And?"

"And you are my best friend."

Revenant was beginning to get annoyed. "And?"

"And nothing else. That is all that matters."

"I thought you said you wanted to find your creator," Revenant said mockingly.

"I do," Pathfinder replied, "but that has nothing to do with you. All that matters about you is that you're a bad person, and that you are strong, and that you have great moves, and that I love you."

Revenant bristled. "Stop saying that."

A question mark appeared on Pathfinder's chest. "Stop saying what?"

"That word. The L word."

"Love?"

"I said, stop saying it," Revenant growled.

Something flickered within that glowing lens of Pathfinder's, and then a grinning face blossomed on his chest. "If I promise, will you teach me your moves?"

"My moves?" It took a few seconds before he understood. He almost dropped the wooden spoon into the stew. "You want to learn how to kill?"

"If I learn lots of new things, it will help me become more famous and spread my image across the Outlands. Then I'm sure my creator will find me."

Revenant huffed. This was ridiculous. Pathfinder was ridiculous. "You've already killed."

"But we can work together, best friend. With your moves, and my moves, we can take the championship. Then my creators will notice me and we will be reunited. I cannot wait!"

Revenant studied Pathfinder for several seconds. He'd been an apprentice for the Syndicate, but he'd never taught an apprentice himself.

No, it was ridiculous to entertain that idea. Unless... "If I agree to teach you, will you listen to whatever I tell you to do?"

Pathfinder gave a mock salute. "Absolutely, best friend."

"If I agree, will you stop saying the L word? Will you stop calling me friend, or any synonym of the word 'friend'? Will you only come into my room when I give you permission to?"

"Yes, yes, and yes." Pathfinder was bouncing in excitement now. He'd never seen the MRVN so happy before. "This is why you are my new best friend. I think I am going to make you my number one best friend in the whole wide world."

Revenant felt that weird warmth creep up his chest. It wasn't hate, he realised suddenly, but it was just as intense. It burned hotter than magma, brighter than the stars, and was lighter than air. It made him feel like he was flesh and bone again, turning his head away from a kissing scene when he was but a weak and defenceless child. But if it wasn't hatred, what else could it be?

What the hell was Pathfinder doing to him? 

Why the hell was Pathfinder of all people making him feel like this?

Revenant took one final glance at Pathfinder, then at the stew, still bubbling. His hands grabbed the handles of the pot, overturning it. The gloopy mixture of meat and vegetables sat in a pitiful pile on the floor, the juices seeping all the way to the tables and the chairs. If Pathfinder could, he'd be blinking rapidly. 

"Clean that up, tin can. And make another one when you're done. I heard Leviathan stews take a long time to make. Do all that, and I might consider teaching you something."

Instead of getting angry, Pathfinder just beamed brightly. "Will do, sir."

Sir. He could get used to hearing that. Something about the word sounded very pleasant from Pathfinder's voice module. 


End file.
